To Plant a Seed
by Snorkackle
Summary: AU – Ravenclaw!Harry. Throughout the ages, all who were truly great and legendary–Dumbledore, Flitwick, Grindelwald and Riddle–had been forged from the hottest of fires. Privet Drive was just the inferno responsible for shaping Harry Potter into a champion the magical world so desperately needed. 11/08/2012
1. Chapter 1

**To Plant a Seed**

**Author's Notes:**

Ahem. Here we are! I blame this story on the HP bug that got me recently.

So, I like basic stories with a little…twist. In Naruto, it may be a different team, in Harry Potter, it may be a different House. This story is my take on a Ravenclaw Harry who isn't the Gryffindor Golden Boy ruled by his emotions. Not _dark_ or necessarily _Snape-like_, just reserved – cool, calm, collected and wary. Heh, you can even probably call him a nerd if you'd like.

In truth, the story's base really stems from the Dursleys banning of anything abnormal whether that be him talking about outlandish dreams of motorcycles or actual magic. Harry is curious in canon (the stone, the Chamber, Sirius, DoM, etc.) but in this story it's broader (magic, society – stuff in canon it seemed like he _wasn't supposed to know; _stuff hinted at and left for us fans to "create"). Thus, the seed is planted and left to grow.

Now, the summary. Some may find it confusing because ambition and to crave/desire are somewhat similar, but it means Slytherin ambition – money, influence, fame, popularity, etc. Just thought I should point that little bit out. And the summary isn't _that_ far off from Harry's canon personality, seeing as he is emotionally distant and puzzling – at the very least it may seem this way to others not in the know. Either way, I put AU for a reason, basically because I'm not about to change every memory Harry has as a child to show his transition from the pre-Gryffindor he is in canon, to what he is here. Fact is, the change has already happened and story is already diverging from canon. This first chapter is just a small example.

And finally, there will be some Harry and Daphne romance, but that won't come until later and I must say, this is not the usual take on Harry and Daphne , or rather Daphne's background (Ice Queen daughter of rich pureblood politicians who live in a castle and have more gold than they can handle). You'll see what I mean when the story gets around to it.

Well, enjoy!

_Summary_: AU – Harry Potter; the aloof, enigmatic Hero of Hogwarts. Ambition, chivalry and loyalty were insignificant to him, growing up as he had, deprived of freedom, an imagination and his birthright, yet still did he manage to crave forbidden, taboo knowledge, above all else.

_Disclaimer_: Yeah, so me and Harry Potter go way back, but I don't necessarily _own_ him.

* * *

_**An Ever-Growing Wonder  
**_

Petunia Dursley was having an admittedly terrible week. And when she had a bad _anything_ these days, it always wound up being_ his _fault.

Oh how she wished that madman Dumbledore – _what a ridiculous name! _she thought – had decided to keep the boy with his own kind, far away from the comfortable, _normal_ world she and her family lived in – but no! The blasted fool just had to place him on her doorstep like an extra morning paper. Heaven forbid she hadn't been a wonderful mother and an early riser that fateful day and someone else had seen the brat on her doorstep, shivering in the cold!

She could practically taste the scandal it would have caused. And where would those freaks have been then? Back in their caves huddling around a fire, no doubt.

Petunia heaved a sigh and dragged the boy with her towards the discount bin of clothing. If she had to by the boy clothes, at least the sales were on her side. Of course she would have to buy her Dudley something as well if she didn't want him shivering in the cold!

_Shivering in the cold_…

The statement repeated itself over and over in her head, again and again like some freakishly broken record.

"_Poor Harry was shivering in the cold with no jacket to warm his bones!_"

If there was anyone she hated more than her nephew – and by extension any of those other abnormal freaks lurking in the shadows with their dresses and sticks – it was someone who didn't know how to keep their nose out of business that was not theirs to nose about in! She, of course, was an exception to the rule.

And the new trollop teaching mathematics to her Dudley and _him_ fit that role to the last dot available. Not only did the little tart tell Petunia that her precious Dudley was falling behind, but she had the nerve to flaunt her bits right in front of _her_ Vernon like they were there for an all you can eat buffet! And to make it worse, she actually praised the little freak for his good work in class! Of course, the praise directed at her and Vernon for taking the brat in and raising him was well received and deserved, but to slander her Dudley and actually suggest he remain behind a year?

Completely unacceptable. Petunia could see she was clearly on the drugs, of which she could not tell. _Probably them all_…

But Petunia knew – oh how did she know! – it was a difficult world she and Vernon lived in. Nobody to turn to – to mutually vent with about freaks and their freakish behaviors and habits. Nobody could know of the burden they carried, raising _him_, that is. They had to shoulder a problem few knew how to deal with and keep it all a secret, though Petunia knew how to keep a secret far better than most, thank you very much.

Did she and her wonderful husband not deserve some credit? Had they not raised the boy their absolute best – dealing with his kind, that is? Of course mistakes were made, but surely they weren't all to blame!

Not like the brat was any help or his kind had any suggestions to offer – just dropped him off and ran before the lights were back on. She and Vernon had to coach him up all by themselves, teach him like he was a normal. Helping him blend in plain sight. But it was a losing game, Petunia knew all too well. Some things were just born spoiled rotten – bad blood, Marge would say, and right she was – and no amount of training or lessons would change that.

On the other hand, how did she even know if the boy needed a jacket in the winter, or three full meals every single day of the week? What did his kind even eat – candy-corn and caramelized apples? After all, Lily _had_ been rather fond of sweets…

For all she knew the little runt could turn feral at any moment and take a chunk out of her poor Dudley if they so much as looked at him the wrong way! Above all else, Petunia dreads the day when his natural-born instincts finally tell him brooms aren't just for cleaning.

Petunia stopped and placed a hand over her racing heat in an attempt to calm it. It was best not to think too much on the horrors the boy was capable of.

Turning, she flinched at the curious look in those dreadfully familiar eyes, watching her like a blood-thirsty vulture. It amazed her how Lily's beautiful green eyes – eyes she most certainly was _not_ jealous of – could look so eerie and out of place on her son. A son who bore a mockery of the same eyes, yet did not shed tears like young Lily had – not even as a baby.

_Monsters don't have emotions_, she thought, a shiver crawling its way up her spine.

"Is this it?" he questioned, running his small, _deadly_ fingers over the stretchy fabric. She had put the boy to work in the kitchen and seen firsthand just what he could do with a knife in his hand. It was unnatural, his skill with a knife – much too precise for a boy his age. Not even Dudley could cut up his own dinner without help, but the boy…

"Of course not!" she snapped, regaining her usual flair. Honestly, a purple and green jacket – did he want the neighborhood to laugh at them? If she was going to buy the boy clothes he sure as hell wasn't going to pick them out – _probably try and get something expensive to outshine my Dudley!_ – and they _definitely_ weren't going to be such ridiculous colors.

"Alright," he sighed but Petunia had already turned, making her way towards a bland, brown jacket – normal, good, acceptable. Just the kind she liked and the only thing she would allow him to wear out in public. Couldn't have him ruining the reputation they had worked so hard to build, now could she?

"Stay here while I get this jacket in your size," she said in her very best commanding voice, one that not even Vernon dared defy. Dudley, however, was another matter entirely, but he had inherited his mother's will and will did she have!

"Yes, aunt Petunia," he droned back.

"Good," she said, making her way towards a shopkeeper lazing about. "And don't you dare blow anything up!" she added as an afterthought.

Nobody said Petunia Dursley wasn't thorough.

* * *

Ted Tonks was not having the best day.

_Women_, he thought, shaking his head fondly.

Shopping with his wife was bad enough, but Dora too? Give him the torture curse any day over a teenage girl capable of changing her hair, face and body at a moments notice – without the use of a wand.

Ted had jokingly blamed his wife when the discovery was made – no magical history ran in his blood. Looking back, he isn't sure just how much of it was actually a joke.

Sitting back in the stiff, department store chair, he was sorely tempted to give his wand a few twirls and reward himself a nice, comfortable chair. Alas, he was in the muggle world shopping and using magic was a big no-no.

A soft, rustle of clothing drew his attention and he found that curious, unblinking eyes regarded him silently from behind a rack of dresses.

"Come on out, lad, I won't bite," he chuckled. The figure – a small boy with messy black hair and bright, green eyes – adjusted his glasses and did just that. "What's your name, son?"

"Harry," he said quietly, and after a moment added, "Harry Potter."

Taken aback, Ted stared at him. And then threw his head back and guffawed like never before.

"Oh Merlin that was a good one," he choked out between chuckles, "and I'm Albus Dumbledore," he said before breaking in to another fit of laughter. _Magical kids these days and their jokes!_ Ted stopped and wiped his teary eyes, "Oh how I need that – shopping with women will do that to ya! I'm Ted, Ted Tonks." The boy nodded and began running his hand along the side of a velvet hat, "You here alone, lad?" he asked.

"No." He shook his head, "I'm here with my aunt – she's buying me a jacket."

"Must be a nice lady," he said, drawing a snort from the boy.

"She's only doing it because…" he searched his brain, "because the good for nothing slag teaching me math will only ask more questions if I don't come to school wearing something brand new."

"Sounds like a real charmer," said Ted dryly, thoughts of a loving aunt buying her nephew a Christmas present vanishing. "Don't you worry though; you'll heading off to Hogwarts soon, that right?"

But Ted was just humoring the boy. After all, he appeared no older than ten – and that was pushing it – and looked as though a strong wind would take him down.

"Hogwarts?"

Now Ted was the one genuinely confused, about just as confused as those green eyes were.

First the boy claims to be Harry Potter and then he doesn't know what Hogwarts is? Surely _the_ Harry Potter would know of Hogwarts and surely a magical child making Harry Potter jokes would know about Hogwarts as well.

Now Ted was starting to get worried.

Had he just revealed knowledge of the magical world to a muggle boy named – of all things – Harry Potter? Confusion bubbled in the pit of his stomach. On the other hand, Harry _was_ a rather common name.

_What are the odds? _he thought.

With a sigh, Ted discreetly drew his wand. He didn't want to memory charm the poor muggle – his parents were muggles – but laws were laws and he had accidentally broken them. It would be best for all parties involved if he handled his mistake personally – no reason for the Ministry or Andy to get involved in his mess. He was just about to apologize before performing the charm when a gasp caught his attention.

Turning, he saw several colorful tops at the feet of his wife Andromeda.

"James?" she whispered, face pale and clutching at her chest as though she had seen a ghost.

Then, belatedly, he realized just what she had said.

Now, Ted's head turned back to the boy. _Merlin, he looks like a miniature James Potter – it _is_ Harry Potter!_ _How could I have missed it? He even has the lightning bolt, _"Scar," Ted breathed aloud._  
_

"_Mom_," a whiny voice called, "what are you – Merlin's saggy balls, it's Harry fucking Potter!" his daughter Nymphadora screamed, falling over and sending a mannequin's arm flying off into the distance. His wife's reprimand at Dora's choice words was lost in her worry of the fall.

Just then a horse-faced woman swooped in on the scene. "What have you done now, boy?" she demanded, shaking the boy and peering at the mess.

"Nothing – nothing at all, aunt Petunia!" he stammered, pointing wildly at Ted and his family.

The woman's head snapped towards them so quickly Ted feared whiplash. It took her a moment of searching, but her eyes zeroed in on his wand without much trouble before he could put it away, and confusion wasn't what he saw lurking in those pale eyes.

"Freaks!" she screeched, her bony hand clutching at the boy.

"Petunia," Andy repeated, gasping in surprise. "You're Lily's sister – the muggle _Black_ spilled wine on at her and James' wedding!"

The color staining Petunia's cheeks was answer enough but Ted was stumped. The muggle standing before him looked absolutely nothing like the late Lily Potter – not the eyes, hair, or even the face.

"I'll not be embarrassed again by the likes of your kind!" she shrilled. "Come, boy, we're leaving at once!"

Ted took a step forward as she began dragging Harry away, "Now wait just a minute, ma'am, we just –"

"No!" she howled, looking quite deranged – she was starting to draw a scene and Ted prayed to a higher power the muggles didn't figure anything out. "I'll not have any of you _freaks_ coming near me. I won't have it, no sir!"

Just then Nymphadora's head – purple hair which had earlier been pink, he wearily realized – emerged from a stack of underwear, "Blimey, what crawled up her ass," she muttered as the pair made a quick getaway.

"Language, Nymphadora!" his wife screeched, hastily placing spilled clothing back onto racks and shelves. Ted was just thankful she hadn't pulled out her wand, as she was just the witch – pureblood, too – needed to take care of a few household messes.

"Bloody hell, mom, don't call me _Nymphadora_!" she retorted, her hair shifting through several shades of red, much to the surprise of several watching muggles.

"I just told you to watch your damn mouth, young lady, and help me – Merlin's beard, your hair!"

As a shopkeeper fainted and Andromeda whipped out her wand to stun another babbling muggle before she could spread the tale of what she had witnessed, Ted could only shake his head. "What a mess," he muttered, staring at the sport where the boy-who-lived had once stood.

With a sigh, Ted discreetly drew his wand. _The things we do for family_…

* * *

From his seat beside Dudley, he watched his aunt and uncle peer outside through splayed curtains. They were nervous, he could tell – afraid, even. The intentions of the golf club leaning against the wall was obvious to all, side for maybe Dudley. They were also whispering, a quiet conversation meant for their ears only. Barely, he could pick up words here and there – freaks, Hogwarts, abnormal, Dumbledore, senile.

Harry felt his curiosity grow, like a slowly burning fire being steadily fed by their mysterious words. Who exactly was Dumbledore and what was a Hogwarts?

"What are you doing?" Dudley demanded after shoveling the rest of his cookies into his mouth. Thankfully he had already eaten his single cookie before Dudley laid his greedy eyes upon it, though now the cookie was a thing of the past. He would gladly trade the cookie for more knowledge on the subject at hand.

"Nothing at all, pumpkin," said Petunia, smoothing out Dudley's blond hair, even as Vernon continued to glance nervously from him to the window.

_It must have something to do with those strangers who recognized us – me, the friendless Harry Potter – in the clothing store. And how is this Dumbledore connected to both the strangers and the Dursleys?_

"Is it because of those people?" he asked politely, tracing a pattern on the table cloth.

Petunia's hawk-like gaze was on him before Vernon had a chance to close the curtains with his meaty fingers. Dudley's mouth, however, beat her to the punch.

"What people?" Dudley demanded once more, banging on the table for good measure and ruffling the pattern he had been tracing.

"Just some people in the clothing store that seemed to recognize me, Dud," said Harry before anyone could silence him, patiently smoothing out the fabric.

"Shut your mouth, _boy_!"

"Who's Dumbledore?" Harry demanded, his patience momentarily slipping.

Vernon growled, Petunia shrieked, Dudley screamed.

"No more bloody – just go to your room, Dudley!" Vernon snarled before advancing menacingly on Harry, "and you! To your cupboard at once!"

"No."

Vernon spluttered in indignation, his bushy mustache quivering as though it was a living entity in its own right. "W…what? But, Pet–"

But she cut him off, "No, Vernon, it's high time he left his old room behind." She looked at the fireplace nervously. "First that do-gooder from the school starts asking questions and now _they_ show their disgusting faces?" Petunia shook her head and laughed a mad laugh, her eyes locking with Vernon's. "They're finally onto us after all these years, Vernon – they must have been watching!"

In an instant, Vernon's puce-colored face paled to the color of bone. "To right you are, darling! I can't believe we haven't seen it coming," he said in a lowered voice before screwing on a pained smile and turning to Harry, his eyes promising untold pain if he dared defy him. "Come on, lad, let's take you to your _wonderful_ new room!"

Whatever was happening, Harry wanted – no, he _needed_ – to know what exactly was going on, but he wasn't an idiot about to foolishly challenge his aunt or uncle to a fight. He had too much patience to rush headfirst, especially not something so obviously important – _life-changing,_ even.

Nodding, he fell in line behind Vernon, pointedly ignoring Dudley's howls and wails of misery at the loss of his _second_ bedroom. It really _was_ high time he left that smelly old cupboard behind and Dudley's storage room was the next best choice – the guest bedroom that often housed Vernon's sister Marge was bigger, but it smelled worse than Mrs. Figg's house after the time Mr. Tibbles decided to use the couch as his new litter box.

No, he would gather more information and figure out just who those people were, what they had wanted and why – of all people – was he someone to be recognized when he had never even received a letter in the mail. He would learn just why his family feared the strangers from the store, so.

And most importantly of all, the one thing he would investigate above all else.

"Albus Dumbledore." He whispered the word, testing the sound of it. _Sounds about right__…_

As he entered the room and the door was quickly snapped shut behind him, Harry was caught between a grimace and a smile at the state of the room – it would need some cleaning, yes, but what was not broken and left behind could be of use to him. The room also smelled like what Harry could only describe as leftover Dudley Dursley, and _that_ would need to change, preferably as soon as possible.

Quickly stepping around the rubbish, he pulled back the off-white shades and cracked open the room's lone window, allowing brisk, November air into the stale-smelling room. Without so much as a warning, the overcast sky was momentarily illuminated with a blinding spark of lightning and the low, steadily-rising rumble of thunder caught his attention.

_A storm is coming…_

Harry perched himself upon the window's ledge and watched as the icy-rain slowly begin to fall. Idly, he traced the lightning-bolt scar on his forehead as the sky flashed brilliantly once more. It almost felt…alive.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Just a little teaser, I suppose. Test the waters, you could say. Not sure when the next update will come, so I'm not going to make any promises -_-

I also hope it was as fun for you as it was for me. I must say, I had quite the time writing Petunia's little piece and her 'observations' of Harry. No, Harry is most certainly not evil, Petunia just thinks he is.

So yeah, read, review and and all that other jazz – tell me what you think. Till next time, folks!


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Notes:**

Thanks for all the support in the first chapter, peeps.

Now, some people were sort of confused where this story was going and coming from. To put it simply, Harry is affected more by the Dursley's treatment. In canon he was locked in a cupboard, he mentioned not getting enough food several times, he didn't have muggle friends thanks to Dudley, Vernon did choke him on one occasion and they did keep his magical heritage from him. Let's be honest, canon Harry turned out better than most would, given the situation. Here, he's a little more…withdrawn.

I also didn't like the summary originally used so I swapped it out for a new one. Someone pointed out the original summary sounded a bit like when Voldemort told Harry there is only power, and I agree, that was what I was aiming for, but I feel like it went a little too far and I don't want to give people the impression that Harry will be some uber dark wizard with no restraint or conscience reading up on how to make horcruxes in his first year. I left the original up in the first chapter so people could compare them if they wanted.

I wrote pretty much all of this during and after hurricane Sandy – not much to do with no cable or internet (just got it back today). At least I didn't lose power (I'd have walked to the beach and drowned myself). Although a tree somewhere around 30 feet tall snapped in half and landed in my yard. Nice, right? Honestly though, living on Long Island and about 2 miles from the Atlantic ocean, I'm lucky I didn't just drown in my sleep when the tide rolled in (which I'm pretty sure hasn't left due to the full moon). A few blocks over and I would have been _fucked_.

* * *

**_A Feast for Crows_**

The January air howled in his ears – an eerie, soft, rushing sound that set the hair's at the back of his neck on edge. When the wind died down, the falling over of a garbage can broke the welcome silence.

He couldn't see his minders, mind you, but he could hear them from time to time, and _feel_ their eyes watching his every movement. Call him paranoid, but he knew when he was being tailed, and he didn't like it at all – _not one bit_. However, where fear should have grown and festered, his desire to know _why_ it was happening outweighed the debilitating emotion.

Harry Potter liked to think he feared nothing. The last person to call him a coward –_ interestingly enough, now that I think about_ _it_ – had not made it to school for the next week. Something about extremely painful boils covering his entire body.

The following sessions had started – _surprise, surprise_ – not long after the trip alongside his aunt to the clothing store. He was actually wearing the very same jacket she had purchased before hunting him down. It was interesting how a plain, boring jacket could draw forth such…_unique_, consequences. And while his first encounter with an unknown had been strange, the second had been even more so when a horrendously-dressed man in the grocery store _bowed_ to him as though he were related to the Queen.

It just didn't add up at all – _nothing does these days_, he thought, adjusting the rucksack on his shoulder. The disappearing act pulled by the man moments later when Harry finally got over his shock was nothing short of spectacular. One moment he was there as plain as day and the next, when Harry followed him into the aisle over after hearing a violent, crashing noise…gone without a trace and no explanation.

Worse thing was the Dursleys and their apparent oath of silence taken on the subject. They knew – of that there was zero doubt in his mind; only an idiot would believe they weren't hiding something – but they were most certainly _not_ speaking. Like it would cause them physical pain to reveal whatever _it_ was.

_At least it means I'm not crazy_, he thought, _that has to count for something_…

Harry quickened his strides, desperate for the sanctuary that was Number Four. Quickly glancing over his shoulder, he was not surprised to find nothing there expect a fallen trash bin. Whoever happened to be following him was good, of that there was no doubt.

The air was nippy with no signs of getting better and few dared walk in the weather's current state, yet still he could not spot his watchers.

It was infuriating.

When a problem needed solving, he worked until he solved it. Problem was…he didn't know what the problem was. Pieces of the puzzle were missing and Harry had no idea where they were, or what the pieces even looked like.

With a defeated sigh he began making his way up the path to Number Four. He couldn't help but peer curiously around the neighborhood, desperate for even the faintest of clues that would solve the mystery. Nothing came to him until he reached the front door and gave Privet Drive one last hopeful glance.

He found his clue in the form of batty, old Figg, waving at him from behind her closed windows, a cat flanking her on each side like a pair of furry bodyguards.

Harry narrowed his eyes and slowly, her waving came to a halt before stopping completely. He turned his attention away from her and clutched the doorknob of Number Four –

A cat mewled in the distance.

_How curious_, he thought, turning the knob and entering, a devious plan already forming in his head.

* * *

Albus Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully, a small, well-hidden smile resting behind the snowy mass of hair.

Only an immortal phoenix that had spent _decades_ with the man could spot the subtle action. As it was, he did, and patiently awaited the humorous comment to come.

"If one did not know better, Severus, they would say you were concerned for Mr. Potter," he interjected.

The potion's master flushed ever so slightly and narrowed his piercing black eyes. "Concerned?" he said, lip curling into a sneer, "Hardly! I am simply the stating facts, Headmaster – someone here has to do so and remain unbiased where the boy is concerned. If Potter is to remain ignorant of his heritage until the time is right in the foolish hopes that his fame would not go to the obnoxious ego he no doubt inherited from his good for nothing father –" he pointedly ignored the scowling transfiguration teacher glaring at him, "– I would think Dedalus Diggle the last person selected to run surveillance."

Albus stopped stroking his beard momentarily. "Perhaps," he allowed, disregarding the derogatory comments offhandedly thrown at the deceased. "Or perhaps it is merely time we begin reintroducing young Harry to wizarding culture. He will, after all, be receiving his admission's letter in a few short months." He paused for a moment, letting the words sink in to the select few allowed in the room. "Arabella has also revealed the boy has begun questioning the odd happenings more seriously as of his run in with Nymphadora and her family. From what Arabella has told me, he does not miss much."

Dumbledore's lips twitched once more and Fawkes followed his twinkling gaze, finally coming to rest upon the rapidly blossoming cheeks of Pomona Sprout, no doubt in embarrassment for her star Puff's behavior. Even so, from what Albus had said, Miss Tonks would make a fine Headgirl for her last – and Harry's first – year at Hogwarts. Helga's house seldom had something worthwhile to cheer for through the ages, but the bubbly metamorph was not only skilled with a wand, but apparently on the pitch as well.

"_Ah_," said Severus, another well-practiced sneer making itself known, "leave it to little miss _Nymphadora_ to break the Statute of Secrecy in front a dozen muggles and the _boy-who-lived_ no less," he spat.

Fawkes made a low, mourning trill. He simply could not understand the potion master's ire for the boy destined to wield his power, if he was to believe the Headmaster – which he did. He had stood, perched on Albus's shoulder as the young man wept and pleaded for the late Lily Potter's safety, yet his hatred for her husband – and his eternal rival – seemed to outweigh his love for the only bit of her that remained.

It was clear to see Severus Snape was a broken man, going through the motions and clinging to life by way of his duty – teaching potions to students year after year and secretly protecting one Harry Potter from the shadows he so loved to cloak himself with. After years with his companion, Fawkes knew all too well one could protect themselves from more heartache by shutting off their heart entirely.

A flash of emotion brought his attention back to the present and he noticed, with no shortage of interest, the rosy tinge on Pomona's cheeks quickly shifting from embarrassed to indignation.

"If you're going to just sit there and belittle student after student – outside of _your_ house, of course – feel free to leave, Snape," she snarled, a positively wicked smirk toying with her lips. "The dungeons are no doubt calling to you and your pale complexion. By all means, run along and play with your chemistry set!"

_Ah_, he thought, trilling in amusement as his partner wiped away a humorous tear, _Hufflepuff_ _loyalty_…

"How dare you," he said in a dangerously low voice. "If I do not give Slytherin house my full support, who will? Ever since the Dark Lord's rise our house has faced unjust prejudice from the three remaining houses." He pointed a long finger at Minerva. "The courageous pride of lions, defending the honor of Hogwarts' underprivileged students day-by-day and assaulting children by night – forgive me, I was unaware first year students sorted into my house were budding dark lords and ladies just because they call the dungeons their home for most of the year." He then turned his cool gaze upon Pomona. "The house of Helga – where the loyal and hardworking come together. It is truly a shame their loyalty remains solely for those flying beneath the black and yellow banner." At last, his eyes came to rest upon the smallest professor. "Finally, we have the house of Rowena and her nest of Claws – where knowledge is both a power and commodity. Above all else, your house is probably the worst, Filius. _Oh yes_," he said silkily, upon seeing the surprised – and hurt – look upon the tiny wizard's face, "to your house, they see us for what we truly are – the cunning and ambitious who know what we want and how to get it – and they are still ruled by their emotions, fearing us like the other houses. Why lie in bed with the sleeping snake when he only wishes to use you for your knowledge – why trust the charming little boy with a serpent's tongue? When the time of reckoning comes, he will not defend you from his own because of _your_ status, or protect _you_ from the chivalrous Gryffindors who simply wish to tell _you_ how things work at Hogwarts and those wearing green and silver are not to be trusted by any. You're either Slytherin or you're not – the remaining houses have made this clear, so why should we not dawn this garb and wear it with pride?"

Fawkes had to admit, Severus Snape had quite the way with words – a man spying on one of the strongest Dark Lord's in history had to. His speech done, the head of Slytherin crossed his arms defiantly and glowered at those gathered in the Headmaster's office.

Slowly, Albus began clapping, eyes twinkling merrily due to the use of phoenix-tear-eye-drops – one drop per liter of pure, conjured water was all it took for the desired effect. "A most impassioned speech, my friend. If only all of us could desire unity among the houses like you, Severus." With the look of a man caught swallowing a lemon, he nodded stiffly. "Now, I had originally planned on allowing Hagrid to bring young Harry to Diagon alley – being the one to initially deliver him, he has been quite adamant in his pleas to reintroduce him – but Minerva has convinced me to see reason."

"Thank goodness, Albus," said Minerva faintly, still reeling from her coworkers telling speech. After taking a moment of collection, she drew herself up impressively. "I had wanted to have a few words with those horrible muggles and put them in their rightful–"

"I believe," said Albus, cutting across his deputy's rant before she got going, "that due to his prior history with the family, Severus would be the best option for the task at hand." Albus neatly removed a lemon drop from its wrapping and popped it into his mouth, savoring the taste – and looks of disbelief he was on the receiving end of. "If my memory serves me correctly, were you not a close childhood friend to Harry's aunt Petunia, Severus? I even seem to recall quite the emotional letter from her, begging admittance to Hogwarts so that she may be with her dear friend."

Surveying the scene of shocked silence before him, Fawkes could only trill in amusement as it was broken with an ear deafening screech by the combined efforts of Minerva McGonagall and Severus Snape.

* * *

Harry stared into unblinking eyes with the utmost amount of curiosity. _If only looks could kill_…

_"Die, filthy human!"_

The beast lunged, slamming violently into the glass jar, dead mouse long forgotten as it flailed about wildly.

"You just talked – again," said Harry, peering curiously at the snake before him.

_ "Did I now?_" the snake hissed mockingly. _"Stupid human thinking only his kind speaks! I will make sure to kill you slowly and savor the moment when I escape this prison!"_

Harry tilted his head to the side, watching the snake intently. His trap had worked to a degree, but he was positive a snake was not following him, although his actual idea was just as ridiculous. "What exactly is that supposed to mean? And I'll admit, I have no idea what kind of snake you happen to be, but you look fairly dangerous – at the very least venomous."

The snake swelled faintly. _"Stupid humans robbed me of my venom only to leave me rotting in a tank on display, mocking me daily with their pointing fingers and disgusting faces! But then the stupidest human of them all did not know my venom would one day return."_ It made a savage, hissing sound that reminded Harry of a cackle. _"I avenged myself upon him that day when he foolishly tried to touch me! From there, I gave freedom to my brethren and we slaughtered ever last one of the gathered rodents with glee. Their flesh was most delicious, especially the golden badger with his braggart tales of serpentine conquest! Where was this Honey Badger he spoke so highly of when I swallowed him whole, still wriggling the entire way down?"_

_This has to be a dream_, he thought with certainty. _This snake is not really talking to me and it's not retelling the tale of his daring escape from what sounds like a pet store…_

Harry could only shake his head. "I'm going to free you now and you are most definitely not going to attack me. Are we clear?"

The snake glared defiantly, tongue fluttering out. "_Crystal_," it eventually murmured as a hiss.

Harry nodded and slowly removed the bit of twine holding the lid tight against the jar. Doorway gone, the snake slithered out of the jar and onto the cold grass.

"What will you do now?" Harry asked, making sure to keep a safe distance.

_"I will return to my place of hiding. What is your next move, human?"_

"What do you mean by that?" Harry asked warily, wondering if the snake would strike.

The snake jabbed its tail at the large jar of preserves turned prison. _"Truly, a most ingenious prison – only one of such design would ensnare a serpent of my caliber. There has to have been a reason for such a devious trap."_

"Well, I –" Harry stopped himself. _No_, he thought, mind rebelling, _this idea is insane I_, "– would you like to help me?"

_"Gladly_," it hissed eagerly. _"Oh and – pardon my rudeness – my name is Slitherfang, son of Manda the Terrible!"_

* * *

"Tonight's the night," Harry murmured, watching as the sun began to disappear.

"_Indeed_," Slitherfang hissed from his shoulder where he remained hidden beneath Harry's sweater.

"Remember the plan," said Harry. "When my relatives leave we are supposed to head straight for Mrs. Figg's house, but we will not. If my theory is correct, one of her cats –" Harry shook his head at the ridiculousness of it all, "– will be sent after me and you –"

_"Will subdue the creature and interrogate it_," said Slitherfang, before adding, "_with torture, if it's necessary_."

Harry huffed, his breath forming a cloud of mist in front of him. He knew it was all very insane and yet – _there really are cats following me on some old lady's orders and I have been talking to a snake_…

"You – _boy_ – we're leaving shortly!" Vernon suddenly bellowed from the door. "Dudley is staying with a friend, your aunt and I are going out to dinner and you will be staying with Figg! Now get over there already, we aren't paying her to laze about in her house all day surrounded by nothing but cats!" He took a moment to laugh at his own joke before going back inside.

"_Stupid human_…"

"Indeed…"

* * *

"He's late," she said, peeking through the parted blinds of her front window. She spotted him heading away from her house in the same direction his cousin and the Polkis boy had gone. Turning, she motioned her most loyal forward. "Mr. Tibbles, Snowball, you know what to do."

The pair nodded and left to do their mistress's bidding at once.

They both knew failure was not an option.

Operation Cat-tails had begun.

* * *

The snake slid from his shoulder and down his arm till it lay upon a piece of carpet.

"I'm gonna go make a scene with Dudley to draw it in," said Harry, glancing nervously down the street. "_Please_ try and show some restraint," he pleaded.

"_I make no promises_," it hissed.

"Whatever," he grumbled, leaving the snake behind. Dudley wasn't the fastest whale in the ocean, but he still had some ground to make up.

Harry hadn't even rounded the corner when he ran directly into Dudley.

"Oi – watch it, Potter!" he bellowed as Harry went crashing into a dumpster.

"Yeah," Piers chimed in, smiling like the little rat he so looked like. "Watch where you're going or you might get hurt!"

Catching on, Dudley smiled nastily and cracked his knuckles. "Mum and dad aren't around now, Potter," he said menacingly. "I think it's about time I made good on those broken legs I promised you."

From his position on the floor, Harry couldn't withhold the eye-roll. "If my legs suddenly break people will ask questions, Dud."

His fun plan ruined, Dudley glared. "I'll break 'em so it looks like an accident! I seen it done like that on the TV, I did!"

"Sure you will, Dudley," said Harry lightly.

"I'm gonna mess you –"

"What the bloody hell is that?" said Piers in hushed tones.

As Harry turned his head, the bad feeling in the pit of his stomach only grew larger.

* * *

He ran as fast as his legs would carry him. His mistress needed to know what was happening immediately! Deftly maneuvering through the cat flap on the front door, he quickly motioned for his mistress to follow.

There was little time to spare!

* * *

Harry buried his face into his hands and groaned.

_"Against the power of a serpent all of your feline techniques become useless!"_

"I got five pounds on the snake!" Piers shouted joyously as Slitherfang dodged several quick swipes.

"You're on!" Dudley responded just as enthusiastically.

Raising his head, Harry was greeted with the exact thing he had been praying would not happen. Slitherfang listening to not a single word he'd said and going all out in a one on one death match against Mrs. Figg's cat Snowball.

It was not a pretty sight.

Snowball leapt, paws raised and nails extended but Slitherfang was just too quick for the inexperienced feline – Slitherfang was a serpent proven deadly in combat trough battles fought and won. He struck quickly and ruthlessly, showing no mercy even as the feline hit the ground twitching and shivering from the effects of his potent venom.

Harry winced as Dudley screamed in dismay and Snowball squealed piteously. Slitherfang stuck once, twice, thrice until Snowball moved no more.

_"Snowball was your name, kitten? It seems I have painted the snow red with your precious life's blood!"_ he cackle-hissed. "_Now I shall let the gathered watch as I devour you!"_

"Oh dear, what in the name of – Snowball!" Mrs. Figg wailed above the cheering of Dudley and Piers.

_It would appear_, Harry thought, eying Mrs. Figg and the murderous looking cat at her side, _backup has arrived…_

"_Is there no one else?"_ he hissed cruelly, glaring daggers at the feline next to Mrs. Figg.

"No, Mr. Tibbles!" she screamed as the brown cat leapt into the fray.

"_You dare bare your fangs at me?_" Slitherfang hissed as the cat circled him. "_Know your place!"_

The fight was just as brutal and one-sided. Mr. Tibbles fought spurred on by rage and grief but in no time at all he was being strangled alive.

"_Look_," the snake taunted as his grip coiled even tighter, "_your mother has come to save the day!"_

"Let him go!" she snarled, swinging a large bag filled with what Harry knew was cat food.

"_Don't hurt her!"_ Harry unknowingly hissed, praying the snake would just listen. _This cannot get any worse_, he thought with absolute certainty, watching with dread as Slitherfang went back to strangling Mr. Tibbles while deftly dodging Mrs. Figg's clumsy blows.

"What the blazes is going on here!" came the furious voice of Vernon Dursley.

Petunia's shriek followed him moments later. "I told you I heard a commotion, Vernon!"

_What the hell are they going here?_ Harry thought, eying his aunt and uncle. They were clearly dressed to impress, but here they were standing in a back alley stained with cat blood.

"Dad, the snake attacked me – kill it!" Dudley wailed, snickering behind his hand when Piers nudged him, grinning as well.

Everyone knew Vernon Dursley did not back down from a challenge when there were witnesses present. Even if that challenge was an extremely poisonous snake with a body count to its name. _Maybe it's not so bad after all_…

"Dudley!" his aunt wailed, grabbing him around the shoulders and dragging him away even as his snickers grew into guffaws. Aunt Petunia merely wailed harder, taking his shaking laughter for sobs of horror.

_Gods their thick_…

Vernon swelled and advanced on the slithering snake. "Attack my son, did you? I'll have your head!"

"_Come_," he taunted, releasing the wheezing Mr. Tibbles. "_One death is simply not enough! I shall –"_

Slitherfang had apparently forgotten about Mrs. Figg. She, however, had not forgotten about him or what he had done.

"Die, filthy snake!"

"_No, wait,_ _I_–"

With an inarticulate scream, she dropped her foot directly on his head, crushing his skull.

Harry turned his head and winced as his first friend – _no, ally; nothing more, nothing less_ – had his brain pulverized. _I sure hope she never learns it was my plan._ _But at least it's all over_…

"Mrs. Figg is so cool!" Dudley howled, gazing intently at the mangled, twitching thing that used to be a snake.

For Mrs. Figg, everything seemed to finally crash around her. "Oh dear," she muttered, glancing from the rapidly cooling corpse of Snowball, to the remains of Slitherfang on the bottom of her foot, "the world seems to be spinning round and round."

_Or not_…

Like a puppet whose strings have been snipped, she collapsed in a dead faint, Mr. Tibbles licking at her pale and clammy face in a useless attempt to rouse her.

"Come, Pumpkin," Harry heard his aunt speaking hastily, "mummy and daddy's fancy dinner was cancelled so we're taking you and Piers out for ice-cream!"

"This is like the best day ever!" Piers was practically frothing at the mouth.

"And what about –" Harry did not get to finish that sentence before his uncle rounded on him.

"You'll be dragging this one back to her den!" he bellowed, drawing snickers from both Dudley and Piers.

Taking off in a brisk waddle, he led the party away. Without so much as a second glance or 'good luck' Harry was left in the alley with a dead cat, dead snake, living cat and unconscious elderly woman in the middle of January.

Glancing around his surroundings quickly, he formulated a plan. With the speed of a boy chased daily, he grabbed the moth-eaten rug he had lay upon earlier and hastily wiped it down. Placing it to the side of Mrs. Figg, he eyed the cat and snake corpses sourly.

_Should have stuck to the plan, you arrogant piece of shit! This is on your head!_

Raising his head at the sound of eager cries, he saw several figures as dark as the night already circling, drawn in by the savory promise of a feast. Harry wanted to leave as quickly as he could, having no desire to witness crows plucking the eyes out of the deceased. Being forced by Dudley to watch them feed upon the rat he had beheaded in mid-summer was one time too many.

Using what little strength he had, he gave Mrs. Figg a mighty heave and placed her upon the threadbare carpet face down.

"Now the fun begins," he muttered as he began dragging her and the rug in the direction of her house, Mr. Tibbles taking the lead in front of them.

It was tough work, but Mrs. Figg was not very heavy and the rug slid smoothly along the well paved streets of Privet Drive. With aching arms and frozen fingers, he eventually pushed her door open and dragged her into where he knew the living room was.

Sitting down on her smelly couch for a breather, he fought a snicker as at least a dozen cats surrounded her and began mourning the loss of Snowball with pitiful mewls and catcalls.

_I shouldn't be laughing_, he thought. _This is very serious stuff_…

That drew forth a snicker and subsequently several dangerous hisses from the gathered mourners.

"Look," he said patiently, lips twitching, "I'm really sorry Snowball got in over his head and his blood spilled over the back alley he so loved to follow me through." The hissing grew louder and one daring cat took – Mr. Tibbles he belatedly realized – a lunge at him, claws extended. "Ouch!" he howled as the cat drew blood. "Back off before I finish what he started and strangle your furry ass!"

With another swipe and cry of pain he fell from the couch, cover and cushions upending as he hit the floor with a thud. Blinking in vain to fight away the blurry edges that informed him his glasses were missing, he swung wildly and grappled valiantly with the heavy weight on his chest.

_Wait a minute – this isn't a cat on me! It feels like a book!_

He continued grasping for his glasses while keeping a hold on the object upon is chest less it disappears forever. Eventually perching the outdated spectacles upon his nose, he glanced at the book's title, pain in his arm _long_ forgotten.

"Hogwarts a History," he whispered in awe, tracing the large words engraved across the cover with trembling fingers.

_I regret nothing…_

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Yes, this whole chapter was a little over the top (the snake name, too). The whole point was Harry catching Mrs. Figg and learning of magic. I know she's a squib and likely didn't go to Hogwarts but she probably wanted to and had a few magical books lying around. I guess somewhere down the line I just decided to go the humorous route. I could have _just_ had him search her house while he was there and find a book on magic but that would have lacked the _fun_. So sorry for anyone hoping that a snake would accompany Harry to Hogwarts (I'm not that unoriginal) – how was _that_ for a turn of events? Harry may be smarter, but we always knew his plans sucked and this time someone paid for it with their life.

Now, Snape _will_ be taking Harry to get his supplies when the letter comes (the reunion with him and Petunia was like the first thing I wrote when starting this story), but I have something else planned for Harry's first trip to Diagon Alley.

Phoenix tear eye drops will soon be patented by me, so don't even think about it.

Also, some people may be confused by just why Harry wanted to capture one of the cats. In PoA Sirius says he communicated with Krookshanks or whatever, the cat knew Pettigrew was an animagus and was trying to capture the rat for Sirius. So yeah, smart animals can communicate. It's magic!

RIP the mighty Slitherfang and the courageous Snowball. Now I'm wondering if Harry should be able to see Thestrals…Give me your thoughts – should he or not? Well, actually the students don't even use the carriages till 2nd year so I it isn't really important at the moment. I could always have him outduel Quirrel at the end of first year and execute him with the Killing Curse like a _real_ badass. That would solve my problems. You never know.

Till next time.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Notes:**

Now, I feel the need to reply to an anonymous reviewer that left me a pretty good review. The story itself is labeled Adventure/Romance because romance will come into play once Harry is at Hogwarts. This is not a crack story by any means, but I will admit the second chapter was a bit over the top and it was supposed to be. That said, pretty much all of my stories will have snippets of humor here and there, unless it's just a pure humor one-shot (which in my eyes is pretty just crack – pure humor, that is).

Merry fucking Christmas, people – this chapter is my gift to you all! Huh, disappointed? You didn't get me shit. So yeah, ahem, enjoy the chapter.

* * *

_**This Fire**_

His chambers were dark and chilly and devoid of unnecessary light and _sunshine. _It fit him well, he knew, as did everyone in the castle who could claim they held half a brain, from his colleagues teaching to the students learning to the ghosts gossiping and the elves serving. He liked to believe his colleague Minerva McGonagall wore her lion's heart there on her sleeve for all of her pride to see, yet he did much the same, leaving the shriveled black thing he called his heart for any and all to see. The only thing truly hidden from prying eyes was the actual level of dislike and enjoyment he took in at certain things.

_If the gods truly knew just how much I enjoyed quiditch and teaching, they were certain to take it away from me_, he thought, with a bitter certainty that came only after living a life filled with loss.

He had once thought it all the Dark Lord's fault – Dumbledore too, for quite some time – but placing the blame on a single man was not enough. The Dark Lord did not make his father a bastard of a man any more than Dumbledore had made his mother a cowardly excuse of a witch. That son-of-a-whore James Potter was another matter entirely and both the Dark Lord and Dumbledore had unknowingly played a part in making him the monster he had been in their shared time in the hallowed halls of Hogwarts.

No, a higher power was clearly at fault for making his life as miserable as it had been._ Someone(s) out there hates me almost as much as I hate myself._ He pulled his dark cloak tighter around his thin frame, shivering as a cold wind from some far off corridor in the castle finally reached his quarters – placed under the lake, his chambers did not have any windows, muggle or magical so the air often remained stale and still.

His room, however, was thankfully dry and devoid of any dampness one might expect considering his duties to the school. A fire had already been placed in the room for him, a conjured one – a piece of magic any first year worth his weight should be able to create before their year was out.

_Well, not entirely_, he thought, gazing intently into the large fireplace, complete with a writhing fire the color of emeralds – a unique twist on the basic spell, something he was particularly good at. _If one were to look long enough, it looks very much like cursed fire_…

The flames brought with it both ice and fire, a gentle warmth that kept the chill out his bones, but did little for the frigid cold that swept through his breast at the sight of the flames his elf Gilly had created for him, before he spelled it a different color without a second thought, stirring a memory constantly resurfacing since his talk with the headmaster.

It was the first spell she had truly learned, on her own and going entirely out of her way, and it had been for him.

Hearing his tales of the less than warm Slytherin dorms she had learned and produced – though he did not have the heart to tell her he had already known the spell and just how to call forth the flames – magical fire for him, to keep him warm when need be. On her very first try she had produced green flames, something not even he could boast, his looking entirely like a common fire. His housemates had cruelly japed he did not possess enough magic to make anything but a muggle one.

And now, most of those he had once called friends were dead, or rotting away in Azkaban with only the coldness for company and dementors to warm their beds at night. The rest, like himself, had escaped justice to live out the rest of their days, never truly free of the memories or the _mark_.

He raised the tumbler in his hand and drained it of the whiskey within before silently allowing the conjuration to fade away, the glass disappearing like so many other things magic had created.

His hand free, he rubbed tenderly at the mark on his forearm that was little more than a blemish these days, chasing away the phantom searing pain that still remained. On some days he wondered if the tingling sensation was just in his head, others if the Dark Lord had purposely spelled it so when marking them as a way to always remember.

Like turning the babe of the woman he loved into a living-legend wasn't enough.

_Harry Potter_, Severus Snape thought with severe distaste.

The name alone turned his stomach like milk gone sour. Such a common name, with a _Potter_ slapped onto the end of it. It was no better than placing an air-freshening charm on the rotted corpse of an inferius.

His task that lay ahead curdled that same sour milk and left his stomach burning. Had his glass not vanished, he'd have thrown it into the fire before him.

_I am no errand boy!_ he thought, dark eyes glaring resentfully into the smoldering green embers that seemed to stare back at him. _I have traded one psychotic master for but a senile one! Make peace with the brat? Ha! I'd sooner take up residency at Azkaban in the cell alongside that whelp Black!_

He fumed a moment longer, nostrils flaring dangerously, before calming himself with several deep breaths, allowing his prodigious skill in occlumency to wash away the emotional war waging within him – pleasant thoughts of Black suffering at the isle of Azkaban helped him along, though he would admit that particular thought to no one, not even Dumbledore, though, if it was possible, the headmaster seemed to resent the man responsible for betraying Lily and fooling them all even more than himself.

In the end, his chaperone trip was still months away and that thought alone won out. There was no use wallowing on the terror to come when the horrors of his past were still fit to be wallowed in.

Rising, he gave himself a halfhearted once over and prepared for the day of teaching that lay ahead. Thankfully, today was a Slytherin day and he would need not deal with the clumsy puffs or foolish lions – the two idiotic houses deserved each other, especially in potions; one student to bravely stand before the ruined potion fit to explode, shielding the masses while the other held their savior's hand in a show of comradely.

Moving through the shadowy corridors as though he was one with the darkness, his thoughts now landed on one subject and one alone: to which house would the boy belong?

There was no doubt in his calculating mind that any son of James Potter would be a foolish Gryffindor with no regard for anything but his justice – _and honor_, he thought, sneering. A son of Lily Evans, however, was another thing entirely.

_Perhaps this is why Dumbledore tasked me with this? _he thought, nodding after a moment. _It will be done, and I shall see with mine own eyes just who you truly are, Harry Potter…_

* * *

As Mrs. Figg slept, surrounded by her personal guard of cats, he devoured everything the book had to offer him with the type of enthusiasm Dudley only showed to a properly cooked meal – any meal, really, when it finally came down to hunger.

_Hunger_, he thought with a wry twist of his chapped lips, turning another page of the book resting in his lap.

It was amazing – only 'amazing' didn't truly capture the gist of the book and give a nice, clean and simple review. There was a better word that was much more fitting than amazing.

_Magical…_

_Magic_, his mind whispered with reverence again and again, _magic, magic, magic_…

Dragons, ghosts, ghouls, giants, goblins, hags, hellhounds, trolls, vampires, werewolves and zombies…

It was the stuff of legend and the things that birthed nightmares – the creatures that crawled in the dark and avoided the light of day; the monsters beneath the bed and the ones hiding in your closet. It was terrifying and he should wish to avoid it at all costs and remain in the _muggle_ world and live a normal, careful life and yet –

Abraxan, elves, fairies, leprechauns, mermaids and mermen, phoenixes and unicorns…

It was the stories banned religiously at Number Four because they were not _normal_ or simply could not be _real_. The stories Dudley did not care for, but the ones he had feasted upon in secret, memorizing those precious books word for word spending long hours alone in the school's library with no one for company but the old librarian. The stories he would find himself captured by for hours on end until his stomach ached horribly and his eyes burned fiercely.

_Like now_, he thought, turning another page of the precious book before him. He was drawn in like a moth to the flame, hopelessly ensnared. _Must keep going_…

The book went on forever, or so it said – self-sustaining the index had informed him. It would – by the grace of magic – update itself year after year and day by day, filling the blank pages with new tales of adventure. It was impossible, and yet he saw, drawn upon the blank, yellowed pages by an unseen hand, Marcus Flint of Slytherin house gaining five points towards the house cup due to a perfectly concocted pepper-up potion, awarded by Severus Snape, graduate of the same house years prior and their current head of house and potion's master, succeeding one Horace Slughorn in both regards.

If it was not proof enough, he decided to give the book one final test. For all the marbles, his uncle would say.

With quivering lips, he lowered his face until his nose brushed against the musty pages and whispered, "Harry Potter."

For one fleeting moment, bone-chilling screams, blinding green light and a cruel, murderous cackle filled his head – and then it was gone. And suddenly, everything he knew up until that point and time took a backseat to the knowledge before him. That he was the poor, orphaned boy of Privet Drive known for his broken glasses and ragged clothing mattered little anymore, as did the matter of a fictional car crash he had heard false tales of, or the unsavory descriptions his deceased parents – _and I,_ he added – had been slandered with.

Because he was Harry Potter – the Boy-Who-Lived – and he would be heading off to Hogwarts upon the September after he turned eleven. He was the last surviving member of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Potter – a wealthy line known predominantly for producing members of the Gryffindor house, which was known for courage and chivalry. He was the son of Lily and James – both Gryffindor graduates and in their time, chosen heads of the school in their year. He was the vanquisher of Lord Voldemort, the last remaining heir to the Slytherin line and a dark wizard of mysterious origins, responsible for killing his parents and so many others during one of the bloodiest wars in wizarding history – the attendance rate was still struggling to reach its former numbers, years later. People still feared to speak his name – Harry, however, would not allow the mere memory of a murderer that last pleasure.

The creased pages seemed to know him better than he did himself and that struck something deep within him. _No, this book merely knows of me, it does not truly know me_…

Harry carefully placed the book on the floor next to him and cradled his head with still trembling hands. _Still_, _I should have known! _he thought furiously, and it took him little more than a second to realize exactly why he did not know. _Their treatment was never normal no matter how hard they tried to pretend it was. Dudley was spoiled horribly, but he was never treated like me. No one was treated like me – I was different among all the other children. I was unique. I was always_ –

"Special," he whispered, his emerald eyes shining in the inky darkness of Mrs. Figg's living room.

_No matter how hard they tried to break me, I remained special_, he thought triumphantly, understanding of their treatment finally dawning on him_. No matter how much they spoiled Dudley, I alone was special_, he thought, a savage pleasure warming his chest and banishing what little, childhood jealousy – of toys and clothing and money and hugs – he had once held towards his spoiled-rotten cousin. _They were always just good for nothing_ –

"Muggles." Despite knowing them for mere hours, the terms felt like old friends to him. "Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin." The words rolled off the tip of his tongue smoothly, never missing a beat or sounding incorrect and out of place – he was meant to know them. "Azkaban, Gringotts, Hogsmeade and the Ministry of Magic."

He searched the pages once more before finding the passage he was looking for: the one detailing school supplies and several popular hotspots for shopping. "Diagon Alley," he said with confidence.

_I will need to go there_, he thought with absolute certainty. _Soon_, he added after a moment, sluggishly_. I will need supplies, and most importantly, I will need a_ –

"Wand," he murmured tiredly, flexing his right hand, knowing instinctively that was where his focus would soon reside.

A wand: a focus created from a piece of magically saturated wood with an imbedded core of different varieties – blood, bone, feathers, hair, scales and skin just to name a few – from various creatures, some he knew of and others he had never even heard whispers of.

Without much effort, memories of earlier displays of magic without a proper focus – _accidental magic_, he corrected himself – swam through his mind. A horrible sweater being forced upon him by his aunt, suddenly no longer fitting him – _possible use of a shrinking charm_; his hair growing back over a single night – _possibly linked with a rare magical race known as Metamorphmagi_; suddenly reappearing on the roof of his school – _a form of magical travel known as apparition_; talking to snakes – _an ability possessed by the Slytherin line and this Voldemort character allowing the one in question the power to speak with serpents_.

Not soon after, another thought swam through his head as he searched for more displays of magic – _and I haven't even begun my training yet nor have I had any assistance_…

He so wished to curse the Dursleys then. Even the grotesque Marge and her little dog, too, whom he only saw on the rare occasion she visited them.

He wanted to show them what it meant to be deprived of your true nature – to be forced to live your life as the wolf you secretly were, only among sheep. _Only they're sheep for all of time_, he thought,_ even Vernon, with all of his bluster – like a giant blowfish, swelling but never advancing against a foe he knew was out of his league._

But that was just the Dursley way to go about things. Make noise and a brave show of courage, hoping for the best, praying that the bad man – never the boogeyman, because he was not real, and anything _fictional_ could possibly give Harry subtle reminders and hints of the dangers awaiting him where he truly belonged, because for Harry Potter, the monsters lurking in the shadows were very much a reality – would go away.

Harry would never confuse the Dursley family with the word normal. They were the farthest thing from it and it was sad how hard they tried to be it, grasping at the very goal they continued to blindly shove away.

Snide comments from what seemed like a life already slipping away prodded his sleepy mind. _Freak, good for nothing, worthless_…

They were all truly pitiful – nothing more, nothing less – and Harry forced himself to look at his situation from an outsider's perspective of unbiased opinion. He weighed the legend of Harry Potter against the Dursley family of Number Four.

"Who is worthless now, aunt Petunia?"

The words came out tired and without much heat. He would need to think up a form of proper retaliation when the time was right, to settle the score and let them know their place and where he now stood. The revenge would be sweet and long overdue, but it would need to be done correctly – nothing too over the top, rather simple and to the point. Merely give them the means and let them create their own nightmares like they have been doing all of his known life.

But that was after some much needed rest.

Harry removed his glasses and rubbed at his tired, green eyes – _my mother's eyes_, he thought, eyes growing moist even as a yawn overtook him. _Sleep_, his mind whispered traitorously, _a nap would be most welcome_…

He desired to read more – to learn more about charms, herbology, potions, runes, transfiguration and even the popular magical sport played atop brooms called quiditch – but he was so very tired. The previous day had been taxing and he could not ignore slumber's call any longer.

Lying upon the dusty floor of Mrs. Figg's house, surrounded by cats of various shape, sizes and color, he clutched tightly to the ancient tome, pressing his head to it and daring someone to pry it away from him. Drifting away, Harry knew, without a doubt, he had never felt a more comfortable pillow snuggled beneath his head in his entire life.

* * *

"He _knows_, Albus."

"Does he now?" Dumbledore murmured, the words working around the lemon drop in his mouth whilst he leisurely stroked his phoenix companion. "And tell me, what was his reaction?"

She offered a half-shrug and then abruptly flushed. "When I woke up it was obvious he had been pouring over that book – _Hogwarts a History_ – for _hours_. After a while he just started muttering to himself before he fell asleep clutching at it – still is, as a matter of fact. What should I do?" she asked nervously, wringing her bony hands.

Dumbledore hummed thoughtfully. "He will no doubt have some questions and I would suggest not lying to him – do, however, show some discretion with the information you see fit to burden him with." Dumbledore peered curiously at her. "Is there something amiss, dear lady?"

She clutched at her frail arms. "He – he was talking to snakes," she whispered, a shiver crawling up her spine at the memory of him _hissing_ at the snake that had killed her precious Snowball.

The headmaster raised a feathery eyebrow, seemingly unfazed. "Is that so?"

She trembled once more. "Yes. And it – it – oh Merlin I can't take about this right now." A tiny sob tore its way from her mouth before she was able to collect herself. "I should go now – before he wakes. You're right about him having questions, I'm certain."

"Of course," he replied. "Please – when the opportunity arises – do tell me more about the boy as there is a great many of us who are quite curious where young Harry Potter is concerned."

As her face disappeared from the fireplace within his office at Hogwarts, the headmaster wore a contemplative little smile accompanied by the infamous eye twinkle.

"Your learning curve is quite impressive, Mr. Potter."

* * *

"I don't know who you really are and I don't know what you want. If you are looking for ransom, I can tell you I don't have muggle money or access to any gold in Gringotts. But what I do have are a very particular set of skills; skills I have just recently learned the true nature of. Skills that apparently make me a nightmare for people like you. If you help me get transportation to Diagon Alley, that'll be the end of it. I will not look for who you truly are and I will not pursue your identity. But if you don't, I will look for you, I will find you, and I will kill you."

After muttering a hasty "Yes" Mrs. Figg collapsed in a dead faint.

Harry nodded his head, satisfied, before leaving her house to grab a quick lunch from the Dursleys. His aunt had likely made something in his absence, no doubt unhealthy and tasting like cardboard, but it would have to do and there was nothing that could dampen his current mood.

Crossing the street, he sung himself a happy little tune. "_I've got the magic in me_…"

* * *

_**Omake**_

The funeral was a grand affair the likes he had seldom seen before and the backyard looked as magnificent as ever. Several posts for scratching stood tall and proud along the yard and colorful yarn dangled haphazardly everywhere and anywhere – their mistress had gone all out for their brother's final hoorah.

Tibbles raised his battle-scarred face and watched some of the stragglers still entering, obviously fresh from a midday nap.

A Persian-looking male strutted in like he owned the place, two pretty little things with shiny fur flanking him on either side. He was a member of the Meowth clan from a few blocks away, the one that held court over the dumpster behind the local grocery store where all the excess milk was left. His name was Giovanni, Tibbles knew, and had heard dark tales of backdoor nip being sold for the right price.

His mistress placed an ice cold dish of milk in front of him and murmured her thanks before dashing away to serve an orange half-kneazle with the ugliest, squashed face he had ever seen. With a frown, Tibbles saw the arrogant Persian sniffed indignantly at the milk before allowing his entourage to have at it.

Tibbles turned his feline eyes away and laid them upon his deceased brother Snowball, immortalized and stuffed, his snowy-white fur looking sleek and perfectly clean, the pose he struck looking fierce and intimidating like the warrior he had been before that fateful day.

Tibbles looked away after a moment, sniffling as memories of the better times finally caught up with him. He thought of the time they'd had the most horrible fleas itching at them, the time they had been forced to escape the vet's office before their balls were removed with a sharp blade, their time spent with Mrs. Norris who was much more flexible than she looked, their time spent hunting both mice and men…

Tibbles glanced into Snowball's staring, yet unseeing eyes. _We are the watchers on the wall, _he thought, thinking of duty and vows, of oaths made and promises now broken, never to be fulfilled, ashes scattered to the wind like the corpse of his brother's murderer had been_. _He turned away and began the long, solitary walk back to his sleeping mat.

_And now his watch has ended_…

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

Little twist on _Hogwarts a History_. It's like a live-streaming book of statistics that can tell you basic information on people. In example, since Harry Potter was already signed up for Hogwarts, it knew who he was and the basic facts known to all were right there for him – Harry did once say Hermione knew him better than he did himself, or something like that. Now the branch just kept going from Harry, to his parents, to his magical family that attended Hogwarts and so on – nothing detailed, just broad strokes and names and numbers (years, grades, ages, etc.)

Let me say this now. Harry does not hate muggles nor is he going to be throwing the word mudblood around for fun, he is just a cold, intelligent boy that has been wronged by the muggles closest to him and needs a little time to adjust to his sudden changes.

Till next time…


End file.
